


Something Opens Our Wings

by zjofierose



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Androids, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, Frottage, M/M, On the Run, Philosophical ramblings, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zee is a top-of-the-line AI who meets Chris, a religious colonialist out on his Freedom Year. Chris, never having grown up with sentient tech, is appalled at the way the Aides are treated by people and the law, and starts a one-man campaign to convince Zee that he's as much a Person as any human is. Somewhere along the way, they fall in love. The Authorities, as you might expect, Do Not Approve. This is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Opens Our Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Pinto Big Bang 2014. Accompanying artwork by the amazing @babykid528 can be found [here](http://babykid528.livejournal.com/815662.html).
> 
> Many, many thanks to @emmessann for her tremendous beta work, as always, and to @the_deep_magic for the read-through and the moral support, and also to all the members of the Pinto Bar for the many sprints!
> 
> This story is maybe a bit more philosophy than smut, and for that, I do apologize. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy it! Come tell me what you think on tumblr @zjofierose, and make sure to check out the amazing artwork and music!
> 
> Disclaimer: In case the bit where Zach's an android didn't tip you off, this is a work of fiction.
> 
>  
> 
> _"Something opens our wings. Something makes boredom and hurt disappear. Someone fills the cup in front of us: We taste only sacredness." -Rumi_

“Big group coming in tonight, Zee.”

Z-0602 raises his head from adjusting his left toe; last night's guest had stomped on him in her enthusiasm, and her pointy-heeled shoe had done some cosmetic damage to his nu-skin. It's easily enough mended, but he's grateful all over again that his pain simulators are designed to inform him when there is an intra-unit issue that needs repair, rather than being proportionate to the damage inflicted.

“Yes? Anything special I should know?”

M-0228 purses her dark red lips unattractively. She folds her long arms across her chest, perfectly manicured nails drumming on an elbow in thought as she answers.

“Bunch of off-worlders. Buzz says evancolonialists on their freedom year.” She rolls her eyes. “You let me know if any of them get too rough on you, Zee. You know what they’re like sometimes. All excited to get their kinks in with a _machine_ because it doesn't count to the faith.” She pats his head once, her cool fingers whispering over his dark hair, then begins to stride off. “You’re a valuable commodity, Zee. Don’t you forget it.”

Zee finishes patching the toe, wriggles it experimentally as the sound of Em’s heels click rhythmically off down the highly waxed floors of the hallway. _Valuable commodity_. He snorts. He is, he supposes, it's true, but really no more than any of the other models here After all, the House prides itself on carrying only one each of the more rare models in every gender option they come in. He’s the only male Z-06 model in stock in this district, just as Em is the only female M-02 for clicks, but the same is true of all the other models in house. Still, she’s not wrong- he’s the top of his line, for another year at least, he hopes. After that, well…

He refocuses on his routine. His toe is now up to code, but he needs to tend to his body’s hair, and he’s got a joint that’s sticking slightly when he raises his left leg above his head. He's not sure if there's some small piece of grit wedged in the joint, or if it simply needs polishing and lubrication. But, if off-worlders are coming he’d better see to it; they’re often the most interested in testing his documented limits.

\--

He’s lounging carefully across the bed when he hears the click of the door latch; he’s discreetly dressed in a dark blue, knee-length tunic, scrolling through the latest news on his reader while he waits. He knows that he’s partially obscured by the hazy curtains hanging from the ceiling, (meant to give the room the feel of an exotic retreat), so he waits until the door snicks shut before he flips the reader off and sits up, turning to have a look at his Guest.

“Whoa. Umm. Sorry.”

The man's voice is confused, and he's backing away, one hand stretched out in front of his chest as the other hand's fingers fumble for the door latch behind him. “Sorry, I must have got the room wrong. I’ll just…”

“What seems to be the problem?” Zee swings his legs over the edge of the bed, letting his bare feet slide into the black embroidered moccasins resting by the side of the bed.

The man coughs and blushes, looks down studiously at his shoes. He’s tall, almost as tall as Zee himself, and clearly from one of the colonies. His skin is sun-warmed, and his clothes are worn and out-of-style for the capitol, but Zee doesn’t know enough to tell the various types colonial fundies apart on anything other than a star map.

“I… I’m supposed to… I mean, my uncle and cousin brought me here to…” He coughs again, and Zee stands up, walking slowly toward the other man.

“…brought you here to…”

“To see one of the AI Units.”

Zee pauses in his steps, so taken aback that he has to take a brief moment to be quietly horrified. He hasn’t heard that term used by anyone under the age of eighty years, and even then, not in polite company. Worse, the man himself couldn’t possibly be pinker in the face with embarrassment at the thought of even talking to an Aide.

Zee plasters on a smile and stretches out his hand. They don’t keep him around to judge the clientele, archaic slurs or no; they keep him to be charming, skilled, and to produce satisfied customers.

“Did you have an appointment with a particular Aide this evening?” He takes the man's hand and grips it firmly, but quickly, before letting it go as the man shakes his head.

“No, it was an, um, a last minute sort of thing.” His cheeks are ruddy with nerves in the dim room. “I guess my cousin comes here sometimes, so he just asked at the desk what appointments were available, and they said...” The man pulls out his pocket padd to check his info, “they said Z-0602 was available. Um, do you know where I could, um... find that one?”

It’s going to be a long night.

Zee gentles his voice, lets his pupils widen slightly, ducks his head slightly to appear non-threatening. At least this Guest is attractive, if uncouth. “You’re in the right room. I’m Z-0602. I’ll be your Aide for the evening.”

The man blanches, then looks around as if expecting someone to pop out of the tasteful drapes, waiting for a joke, a prank, a punchline. Zee resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“No _way_. You’re not fooling me. You can’t possibly be an AI.” The man's chin is lifted slightly in defiance, but at least he’s looking Zee in the eyes now. That's progress. Still. This is insulting, and patience has never been one of the strengths of his line.

“I can’t? Why not?” He steps closer, keeping his movements deliberately small. Maybe this fundie just wants to be convinced, maybe that will help him let go of his dogmas and strictures with less guilt.

“Well, it’s obvious.” The man blinks in confusion and gestures vaguely at Zee’s form. “You’re human.”

Zee frowns. Does this man really have so little conception of what an Aide is? The other colonialists he's had encounters with have been surprised at his quality, to be sure, but not so shocked they disbelieve him. Rather, they're delighted at how much their coin can get them.

“I assure you, I am not.”

“Oh, come off it. Bruce or Karl paid you to set me up.” The man sounds irritated now, but also pleased with himself that he's figured things out. “They think I’m just some idiot from the sticks, but any fool can tell a Unit from a Person.”

“Oh?”

“Well, sure. I mean, just look at you! You’re…” the man gestures repeats the vague gesture with his hand at Zee's general person, then blushes again when no appropriate adjective is forthcoming. “You don’t have any cords, or inputs, or anything. You’ve got real hair. And your eyes…”

“My eyes?”

“They’re human.” The guest has folded his arms across his chest in conviction.

This has moved officially beyond insulting into just plain tedious, Zee thinks, dropping his hand to his side and shrugging his shoulders. He lets his head fall slightly to the side in submission.

“Well, far be it from me to contradict you, sir. However, it was my impression that humans could not do things like this.” He sits down, carefully, and twists his foot off at the joint. It comes free with a soft click, and he sets it in its moccasin beside him on the mattress, careful to keep the bedspread neat.

The dead silence in the room is gratifying, but it becomes less so when he looks up at the man. His face is pale, his eyes huge, and he looks as though he's about two seconds from keeling over. Zee leaps up, catching him just as he heads floor-ward, and drags him over to sprawl on the bed, cursing the stump of his left leg that throws him off-balance as he moves.

Zee swears fluently under his breath as he carefully arranges the fundie's limbs on the duvet. Great way to start the night, scaring your Guest so badly that he passes the fuck out. He’ll be lucky to get out of this without having to pay an Unsatisfied Guest Fine to the House. What was he even thinking, pulling a stunt like that? He shakes his head at himself. He checks the young man's pulse, finding it steady and strong, then reaches for the glass of water on the bedside table. He dips his fingers, flicks a little onto the man’s face.

He’s really quite handsome, Zee muses, as the man twists his head, his features scrunching as he hauls himself back up into consciousness. His blond hair is short and bristly, darker around the ears and neck. He’s tan to the collar and cuffs of his shirt, a lovely golden color that Zee’s only seen on the F models. He must spend a lot of time outside, but then, most of the colonial planets are the breadbaskets of their system, so it stands to reason. He's also bearded, for all that he's clearly still young, a short full face of dark-gold scruff. Zee resists the urge to touch it; it's not a style you see in the capitol, and he wonders if it would be rough or smooth under his fingers.

The man begins to blink, and Zee steps back, well out of the range of reach.

“Ok?”

“Umm. Yes.” The man rubs his eyes sheepishly and sits up. “Sorry. I. I just. You took your foot…”

“Off. Yes.” Zee counts to ten as the man boggles at him for a minute longer, then shakes his head. “And why did I take my foot off?”

“Because you’re an AI.”

The man does sound suitably impressed, but they’ve really got to do something about his manners. Zee’s a generally tolerant sort, but some of the N line would punch a hick like this as soon as look at him.

“Ok, first things first. I am _not_ an AI. I am an _Aide_.” Zee pulls up an elegantly carved chair from next to the desk and settles himself on it, arms crossed across the back. The man is still sitting on the bed, carefully staying out of Zee’s reach. He looks abashed, but also curious, leaning forward tentatively as he waits for Zee to continue.

“Well, it’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

“No, actually, it’s not. And you’ll want to be careful what terms you use; AI Unit is considered very pejorative.”

The guy blinks his pretty pale eyes in surprise. “You're a machine, though, aren't you? And you're clearly intelligent. How can it be pejorative to use those terms?” Zee sighs. It seems like a genuine question, and he can only imagine what these poor off-worlders are taught about tech. He's not even sure what kind of tech a guy like this would have grown up with; he knows some of the stricter colonies prohibit any sort of intelli-tech whatsoever, won't allow so much as a programmable heating system in their homes.

“Calling something like me an AI Unit is like… like saying humans are monkeys.”

The man just stares at him.

“Oh, no, _really_ ? I didn’t think there were any colonies still that backward. Ok, hang on.” Zee thinks for a minute, then smiles. “Calling me…” he stands, smoothes his tunic over his hips, and begins to slink toward the bed, “…an AI Unit…” the man’s eyes are huge in his face, “is a bit like saying I’m the same thing as your Smart Toaster. You know what that is?” The man nods slowly, so Zee climbs onto the end of the bed, leaning forward so that he’s kneeling a foot in front of the guest's legs. “I think you can agree that I’m a bit more… _advanced_ than that?”

The guy gulps, swallows hard. His eyes are enormous, and oh so blue.

“Yes?” It's still questioning, but Zee feels he's getting his point across.

“So, then, when you call me an ‘ _AI Unit_ ’…” Zee curls his lip in disgust, “you’re saying I’m just a hunk of metal that does your bidding, without thought, without will.” He leans in again, propping his palms on either side of the man’s narrow hips. “And believe me, I am much, _much,_ more than that.”

The man scrambles suddenly back from him, pushing himself up against the headboard with an almost apologetic look on his face. Zee sighs again, but settles back onto his heels, closing his eyes in search of patience and folding his hands in his lap.

“Ok. I’m sorry.” He puts a hand out onto the bedspread placatingly. “I didn’t mean to intimidate you. I’ll just go sit over here now…” he climbs off the mattress and walks over to the chair, settling himself in it so that he’s facing at a slight angle from the man; nice, non-confrontational body language, tunic carefully covering anything improper. Though, of course, by the standard of this Guest's world, Zee's very existence is improper, so there's only so much he can do, really. “Ok. Let’s start this again, and you can just… we’ll talk things through, ok?”

The man nods, settling himself cross-legged on the pillows near the end of the bed. Zee tries not to wince at the thought of him willfully rumpling Zee's nice, clean sheets. Still, poor manners or no, Zee's honestly surprised he's still here at all, that he hasn't run screaming into the hallway, if he's truly this green. Still, he's grateful for small mercies. He may be able to turn this around yet..

“Ok. So. First things first.” He summons forth his most disarming smile, laces his fingers casually. “I’m Z-0602, but you can call me Zee. What’s your name?”

The man shifts subtly, one hand rubbing restlessly on his knee; still nervous, but calming.

“Chris.”

“Hi, Chris. It’s nice to meet you.” Smile wider, no teeth. Teeth can appear threatening, especially Zee’s mouthful of perfectly straight, white, plasamel. “Why did you come here tonight?”

The flush rises in Chris’ cheeks, turning them to a rosy pink and nicely setting off his sandy hair. If Zee were capable of feeling desire, he thinks he surely would be now; Chris could be one of the Aides himself, he’s that flawless.

“Well, see… Bruce, that’s my uncle, and Karl, that’s my cousin, they…” Chris trails off, crossing his arms and tucking his hands into his armpits. Embarrassment, defensiveness.

“They…?”

“Well, see, I just got in a week ago… I’m from Parfroya, and it’s my Freedom Year, and so I came to stay with Bruce, my uncle, and work in his shop for the year, but…”

He trails off, and Zee nods encouragingly. So far, nothing he hasn't already known, save the specifics. Freedom Years are common for the colonial planets as a way to allow the young to sow their wild oats off-planet before coming home and re-committing to the lifestyle.

“…but they, Bruce and Karl, think that I’m too old to be so innocent, and they thought it was ridiculous that I’d never seen an… an Aide, so, they brought me here.” He finishes all in a rush, his cheeks heating again as his fingers move to rub nervously at his pant hem. He gives a quiet laugh and smiles disarmingly at Zee. “So, I’m sorry to be so backward, but I just… I was expecting… something else.”

Zee’s starting to feel sorry for the man in spite of himself, even if he is putting wrinkles in the duvet on Zee’s nice, clean bed. No wonder he’d assumed he was being set up. It sounds like his family was determined to shake the colonial dirt off him as fast as humanly possible, whether Chris was up for it or not, and without even bothering to give him so much as a heads up about what he was in for. Though, to be fair, Chris is a special kind of incredibly unexposed, so it's possible that this Karl and Bruce really didn't grasp how completely inexperienced he is. Oh well. He's Zee's problem now, meddling family or no.

“Ok. Well, how about this.” Zee resettles himself in the chair, making himself as comfortable as he can. “We’ll just sit here, and you can ask me whatever questions you want, for as long as you want, ok? Your time is already paid for; I’m here to aide you with whatever you like.” He smiles in what he hopes is an engaging fashion, and feels immediately guilty as Chris visibly relaxes. He's not sure quite what Chris thought might happen, but he feels a little bad at the visibility of his relief.

“That sounds _great_.” Chris' voice holds both interest and a sense of reprieve, his face relaxing as he leans forward to stare earnestly into Zee's eyes.

Zee kicks one leg over the other, letting his tunic fall where it will. It’s going to be a long night.

 


	2. Something Makes Boredom And Hurt Disappear

“Hey, Zee! Heard you had a fun one last night!”

Zee turns just in time to catch a dishtowel with his face, but when he pulls it down he’s smiling.

“And what would you know about that, Ari?” He sticks his tongue out at xyr, and xe laughs, catching the dishtowel easily as he wings it back at xyr.

The redhead is typical of all the R models, but Zee’s always liked this one best. The R-line is rarer than the Z-line, being both third-gendered and unusually colored, but Z has be fortunate enough to have known two of them. This particular R model, R-0108, has been at the House for as long as Zee, with a room right down the hall from his own. They're companions, what humans would call friends, he supposes; xe's been a part of his world for nearly as long as he's known it.

“Ha! What  _wouldn’t_ I know?” Xe grins devilishly at him. “I had the cousin. He told me  _all_ about it.”

Zee rolls his eyes. The cousin, of  _course_ . “He did, did he? And  _what_ , pray tell, did he say?”

Xe giggles, pulling the massive tray of steaming dishes out of the sanitizer. Neither of them can truly eat, of course, though they can provide the appearance of it as needed, but many of the Guests enjoy the lavish banquets the House puts on nightly. There is always more work to do, and with staff that technically never need to rest, there’s little need for outside help. Still, Zee wishes he had more time for personal maintenance. His hip is getting stickier and stickier of late, and a good soak in a liquid silicon bath would no doubt do him a world of good.

“He said that those colonial boys are as randy as they come, and that he couldn’t even  _begin_ to imagine what that kid was going to do with you.” Xyr eyes twinkle at him. “So what  _did_ he do?” Xe leers comically. “Tell me  _everything_ .”

Zee laughs, turning to the sink and starting the tap. “Nothing, actually.” He washes his hands, making sure to get under his nails, and thinks briefly about what Chris must look like under his colonial garb.“We talked.”

“You  _talked_ ?”

“Yeah.” He moves a stack of plates into the shelving unit along the far wall, his eyebrows coming down in a small frown. “I felt… bad for him, Ari. He didn’t know  _anything_ .”

“Anything?” Xe cocks xyr head, looking incredulous.

“Well, you know. I didn’t ask about  _that_ .” He flaps a hand absently at xyr. “They’re all farmers, those colonialists, I imagine he can figure out what a pleasure house is for. It was  _us_ he didn’t know about, not a damn thing.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, huh. So… we talked.” He shrugs, palms up. “What else could I do? The poor kid was actually visibly frightened of me. He was expecting… I don’t know, some sort of glorified bolt monster. Circuits only know how they got him to agree to come in the first place.”

Ari laughs, throwing xyr head back. “Oh, Zee. You could never be a bolt monster.”

Zee frowns again, wondering why he feels so tired all of a sudden. “Yeah. Until I am.” He grabs another stack of plates. “You know, I saw a billboard in the Warrens the other day announcing the latest models.” He bites his lip, sets the plates down carefully, making even stacks of pristine white china.

“Oh, Zee. Don’t be maudlin.” Ari’s eyes are still laughing, but xyr hand on his arm is gentle. “You’re not going anywhere. They’re not making a new Z model for at least another year, right?”

He nods slowly. “That’s what they say…”

Xe smiles. “Don’t borrow trouble, Zee. We’ll get enough in our own good time.”

\--

He’s straightening his room for the second time that day when he hears the knock on the door. It’s perfunctory, so he doesn’t bother to answer, the door opening an exact three seconds after the last echo fades.

“Em.”

“Zee.”

Em’s shoes are a dark green today, he notices; they match her skirt perfectly. It’s no surprise, but it always amuses him nonetheless. The M’s are as known for their meticulous natures as they are for their curves, built as one part wet dream, one part personal bookkeeper. It’s why they so often end up running the Houses, or as assistants to the very powerful after their model has been retired. An Aide can do worse than have that kind of backup profession built in; Zee wishes they’d thought more about that when they’d designed his line, to be honest. He's more of a pretty work horse than anything, and that's only going to last him so long.

“How was your evening?”

Her tone is placid, but that means nothing. M’s see all and hear all, and while they are very rarely malicious or manipulative, you withhold information at your own risk.

“Well… it was…” He pauses to scrub a hand through his hair. He’s already bathed himself for the evening, and his hair is still damp and slightly sticky in the way Sili-silk is when wet. He hates it. “It was different.”

She nods, face still. “Anything I should be concerned about?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He meets her grey eyes calmly. “We didn’t engage in the standard relations, but I did not get the impression that he was Dissatisfied.” The corner of the bedspread is still mussed, so he tweaks it carefully into line.

Em nods thoughtfully. “All right. Well. Every Guest is different. Just… tread carefully, Zee. The colonials are always a fickle bunch where we’re concerned.”

Zee nods. “I know, Em.” He does. He’s seen it first hand, in politics and in person. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good. I’ll leave you to it.” Her chin lifts and she turns, the lines up the back of her stockings perfectly straight across the arc of her calves. “Normal start time.”

He nods his agreement even though she’s already half out the door.

“Good evening, Em.”

“Good evening, Zee.”

\--

He doesn't often know the identity of his guests beforehand, because their identity is largely irrelevant to him. He has a few regulars, of course- a society wife who appreciates the particular shape of his hand; a pair of businessmen who like to blow off steam and other things with him and each other; an elderly woman who books him for his company, his bathtub, and his skills with massage oils. But mostly he gets travelers, one-timers, the odd collector who's on a mission to try all the Z line, or all the male Aides, or whatever, and his schedule is arranged through the front desk, not through him, so he never knows quite what to expect when the knock comes.

He's wearing a wine-colored shirt this evening with a suit, open at the throat, with the jacket hung neatly on a chair. There'd been a banquet at the house that evening, the great hall rented out by the latest up-and-coming political star. Zee had been in attendance, as had nearly all of the Aides, booked for the evening to make the holos look good for the evening feeds. There had been the other guests, too; planetary dignitaries and celebutantes, and Watchers aplenty, of course. Zee shudders at the thought. Watchers exist only to keep the order, nothing more than that, but something about their demeanor always makes Zee's spinal framework more ramrod stiff than usual.

The House's Aides had put on a good show, as is their duty, but most were then released afterward, save for the politician's favorite. Thus, Zee is now open for business until the morning, and the message notifying him of an incoming client had scrolled across his terminal just a moment ago.

The knock comes, hesitant but quick, without a pause before the door swings open wide.

Zee feels his eyebrows migrate upward in surprise at the figure standing on the threshold, but he waves his hand at Chris to enter, standing to pull out the chair across the small table from him. Chris shuts the door behind him, then makes his way over to the table and chairs. He seems nervous, but determined, and Zee finds his neural net humming with energy.

He is intrigued.

“Chris.” Zee holds out a hand to shake, and when Chris takes it, pulls him in for a quick press of cheeks. He can feel the heat of Chris' flush against his own nu-skin, and smiles. Chris hasn't been here long enough to adapt to the Capitol's niceties, it seems. Well, it will be good to get him acclimated, seeing as he will be here for a while. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you again.”

He pulls out a chair for Chris, and they sit. The table is a small one, flat side against the wall, designed for small talk, or a quick drink, or hand of cards. They're sat on either side of it, elbows close where they rest on the polished surface, long legs stretched out in front of them.

“What brings you here?” He runs his hands over his pants legs, stands up abruptly. “Where are my manners. Can I get you a drink?” He walks over to the small but well-stocked sideboard, lays his hands on a crystal decanter, pours himself a drink. It will have no effect on him, but he enjoys the ritual of it, and it helps to relax clients. “What's your pleasure?”

“Um.” Chris looks a little shifty, rubbing his hand on his knee. “I don't... know?”

Zee chuckles. Of course, he nearly forgot. “You've never had a drink.”

“No, I have.” Zee turns back to him in mild surprise, gestures for him to continue. “Just... nothing you'd have here. Rotgut, bathtub booze, that sort of thing.” Chris shrugs absently. “Karl gave me a beer the other day, too, but...”

“Not to your taste?”

“Let's just say that I have yet to taste an alcohol I would drink for any purpose other than to take leave of my senses.” Chris smiles, and it transforms his face. Suddenly he's no longer an anxious young hick, but a handsome and confident young man. It's a startling transformation from the fearful newcomer Zee had met last time, and Zee feels the abrupt zing of automated arousal responses pulse through his circuitry

He steadies his hand on the cold knob of the brandy bottle before removing the plug and pouring several fingers into his own glass, and smiles as he turns.

“I think that I can help you with that.”

–

The evening progresses politely, at first, Chris asking delicate but interested questions about Zee's past, and his processes. He admits, after the second glass of very fine scotch, that he has spent the past three days reading everything he can find about the history and development of Aides and the Houses. He seems genuinely fascinated, and it makes Zee feel warm and friendly in a way he's unaccustomed to with anyone who is not a fellow Aide. Chris' questions are unusual, and some of them border on offensive (“so, when they claim you are fully functional, just how fully are we talking here?”), but Zee's never had a human so set on knowing not only about him as an Aide, but as an individual, too. Chris wants to know what his earliest memory is (the inside of the plant where he was assembled, all bright lights and sterile rooms), which of his regular clients is his favorite (old Madame Nuha), what chores he has to do, and what he thinks of those, and on and on and on.

By the fourth glass of scotch, Chris is well and truly ranting, and Zee can't help but be entranced by it. His cheeks are pink, his eyes flashing, and it's a wonder that Chris was allowed to leave on his Freedom Year at all, if this is what he's like when he's impassioned. Zee can't imagine the throngs of nubile young maidens who must be counting the days to his inevitable return.

“It's absolutely incredible.  _You're_ absolutely incredibly.” Chris' hand is on his arm, one finger drawing up along the line of his arm, the silicon hairs rising in automated response to the sensation. “I swear to all the gods, I would never have known that you weren't human if you had never said. Look at you, you're a marvel.”

Zee rolls his eyes, twitches the corner of his mouth in a socially-indicated smile. “Yes, we established that. You didn't believe me at all, as I recall.”

Chris throws his head back and laughs, his eyes squinched shut and this throat exposed to the light. Zee takes another swallow from his nearly empty snifter.

“No, I really didn't.” Chris yawns suddenly, his jaw cracking as he lists to one side. Zee reaches out to gently pull the glass out of his fingers and set it on the table. He stands up and takes the two steps to place him in front of Chris where he's leaned back against the wall, reaches out and grips his hands.

“Come on, let's get you laid down before you pass out where you sit.”

Chris flicks his eyes open, wide and blue and full of life.

“You're just perfect, Zee. How is it that the gods have made such a creature as you, and that I've never met you till now? Truly they made you in their own image, and not mankind as we are told.”

Zee shudders, but hauls Chris to his feet regardless, supporting him as he staggers over to the bed.

“Hush. That's blasphemy, and we both know it. You shouldn't say such things.”

He lets Chris fall to the mattress, and bends down to pull off his shoes. Chris is nearly asleep by the time Zee gets the covers hauled out from beneath him, but he rolls over and cups a hand to Zee's cheek before he slides under.

“I don't believe you.” He smiles angelically, and is out between one breath and the next. Zee settles himself back in his chair, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Chris' chest, his words replaying on a buggy loop in Zee's neural pathways.

The hairs on his arms must be malfunctioning. They don't seem to want to lie down again.

\--

“How many times has he come now, Zee?”

“What?” Zee half-turns in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up. “He hasn't... we haven't...”

“Oh, don’t play dense with me!” Ari cuffs him on the shoulder, throwing him off-balance as he staggers up the steps with the load of food base. “Visited. How many times has he visited.” Xe laughs and leers at him. “Your little fundie boy. What’s his name?”

“Chris.” Zee plants his feet carefully as he climbs the marble steps into the House. It's been damp lately, and they can be slick.

“Yeah, Chris.” The verbal eyeroll in xyr tone is impossible to miss. “How many?”

“Mmm… seven? I think?”

“Seven? Really?”

“Yeah, there was…” Zee pauses, settling the crate on the floor near the Fridger Unit so it can be properly unloaded in a minute. “There was the first night. Then three after that. Then not for…” He thinks back, counting days in his head. “…not for another four, then again for two, not for one, and then two again.”

“Aiyah.” Ari whistles through xyr teeth, a piercing sound that slides up the back of his skull and irritates his synapses.

“Yeah. I’m waiting to see when his credit strip runs out.”

“Rightly.” Ari flips the top of xyr index finger back to reveal a small blade and runs it over the sealing strip on the box to part the sealant and open the flaps. “What do you even do? You’re not… entertaining him yet, are you?”

“Circuits, no.” Zee rubs his hand through his hair, stretches his shoulder. He's not sure why their creators insist on preserving some of the human traits in them, like human-based strength proportional to minor differences in body size. He could really be fine with being a bit stronger than a human right now. “He’s like a child. He doesn't know anything. We’ve just… we’ve been talking.”

“Every night?”

“Every night.” Zee pulls out the hoses from the bottom of the fridger unit, lets Ari turn the plastic inside the box until the port is accessible.

“About what?”

“Everything.”

Ari raises a skeptical eyebrow as xe clips the hose nozzle into place and flips the switch. The suction kicks on with a low buzz, siphoning the food base out of its package and into the replicator storage tanks.

“No, really. I mean, he’s told me about his family, a bit about where he lives.” Zee thumps the hose where it's starting to kink. “He’s smarter than I would have thought, you know, smarter than the other fundies I’ve met.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And he wants to know everything about us, about Ras Sadira. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of things they think about us out there, Ari, it’s downright barbaric.” Zee heaves the crate up onto the wheeled platform that will roll it out to be disposed of. He’s got another month on kitchen duty, and boy will he be glad to be done with it. It wears on his joints in ways that the other shifts don’t.

“It’s good you’re teaching him, Zee.” Ari looks concerned. “People get upset enough by the fundies anyway, it’s better he learn quickly before he gets hauled in for a Disruptive.”

Zee shudders to think about it. Chris is definitely learning, but he seems to spend his time either working in his uncle's shop, where he's learning plenty about Capitol culture and practice, and yet nothing about what it takes to get by in Capitol society, or else with Zee. “Yeah. That’d be a real shame. He’s a good kid.”

Ari smiles at him, xyr red curls bouncing lightly as xe walks for the door.

“Aw, Zee. Such a squishy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He flaps a hand at xyr, but there's no heat in it. He's definitely acting like a squishy where Chris is concerned; he's tried to stop, but he seems unable to help it. It's just... Chris is new, and different, and so much of Zee's life is the same. It's logical that he would present a new fascination.

Xe laughs, then waves. “Have a good night, Zee!”

“You too, Ari. Enjoy that cousin!”

Xyr laughter echoes down the hall behind xyr, and Zee finds himself alone again.

\--

“Hey! Hey Zee!!”

He doesn't really realize that the voice is meant for him until J-0412 cuts her eyes over at him with a horrified look on her face.

“Zee, do you know that man?” She's hissing under her breath, walking evenly beside him, but vibrating with tension. “Why the hell is he calling your name?”

Zee feels an uncomfortable charge of energy zip along his circuits, making his fingers twitch and the hairs on his neck stand on end. The crowd pressing around them hasn’t noticed yet, but they certainly will at any moment. He can just see Chris' familiar shape rising out of the crowd in the corner of his eye; he’s begun surging toward them, pushing against the flow of traffic to reach their side.

“For the love of Nazra, Zee, you’ve got to  _do_ something! We’ll all get grabbed for Disruption if he doesn’t quit it!” Jay jabs her hard elbow into his side, making him stumble.

Zee nods briefly, looking sharply around. He doesn’t see any Watchers, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. They’re everywhere. Always. He looks back. Chris has made progress, but the crowd has started to stare at him as he shoves through them, his face wreathed with excitement.

“Zee! Hey!  _Zee_ !”

“Chris.” Zee nods tightly as Chris reaches them, and he can see the second that Chris recognizes the wariness on his face. He looks like someone has kicked his puppy.

“Zee?” His voice is questioning, but wary. He's clearly caught on that something is not right. Zee grabs Chris' arm, thrusting him in front of them both, keeping his head down.

“Listen to me very carefully, Chris, and do as I say. If we’re lucky, we will get out of here without a scene.” He keeps his voice low, speaks quickly.

“What?” Chris is questioning, but at least he's letting himself be directed. Thank goodness for small mercies, and may their luck hold, Zee thinks.

“Do not turn around.” He places the tips of his fingers into the warm small of Chris' back and pushes. “Walk forward to the end of the tunnel. Do not acknowledge us.”

“…ok.”

Chris begins to walk obediently before them, shoulders squared, but head hanging. Zee breathes a sigh of relief at his quick acquiescence, even as he contemplates the ways he can make Chris smile again once they are out of this.

“Keep your head up. Look as though you know where you are going, and what you are doing. Do not speak to me.”

Chris straightens his spine, continues walking briskly forward. At least he seems to be good at following instruction. Based on the tenor and heat of some of their conversations, Zee had been seriously concerned that Chris was going to insist on covering the  _whats_ and  _whys_ of what Zee was saying before going along with any of it, but it seems that he has understood the urgency.

“When you get to the end of the tunnel, turn left. Proceed to the end, and go through the doors. We will be right behind you. When we get outside, walk two blocks to the House, and go in the main entrance. Wait for me in my room.”

Chris gives a tiny fleeting nod, and Zee can see Jay relax infinitesimally. There’s still no sign of any Watchers, and Zee begins to hope that they may have escaped notice after all. He’d give thanks to Chris’ gods if he could, but they wouldn’t hear him anyway. He’ll have to get Chris to do it for him later.

The noise of the crowd swells around him, making electricity skim up and down his nu-skin in anticipation, but nothing ever happens. They slide through the doors at the end of the transit tube and walk back to the House undetected, pointedly ignoring Chris as they walk around to the Aides entrance and slip inside.

“Sweet merciful masters,” she breathes, “that was far, _far_ too close. I’m never going to the Warrens with you again, Zee.” Jay’s face is tight with anxiety. “You better teach that stupid fundie what’s what, or he’s gonna get you junked before your time.”

Zee passes a shaking hand over his face. If he were a Person, he’d be soaked in nervous sweat. As it is, he can feel the buzz of unnecessary energy waves humming through his system. He needs to sit down.

“Go talk to him, Zee.  _Now_ .” Jay's voice brooks no argument, and knows it, knows she's right.

“Yeah.” He takes a deep, unnecessary breath and lets it out. “Yeah.”

Jay shakes her head at him, so he pulls himself up off the wall and forces his feet to take the requisite steps toward the staircase. She’s right; it needs to be now.

\--

Chris is waiting for him when Zee opens the door to his room, slouched in the arm chair in the far corner. He looks petulant, and confused, and Zee thinks he could call this sensation anger, if he didn’t know that it was only electricity burning itself off in his synapses. He didn’t sign up for dealing with this fundie who can’t just fuck him and go home like he's supposed to. Zee's not a teacher, he’s not a mentor, he’s not even a Person, so  _why_ is this idiot child still here?

“What the hell was that all about, Zee?” Chris throws up his hands, letting them bang down onto the chair arms in frustration. Zee stalks over to him, but Chris is too used to him now, and doesn’t lean away from his sudden presence at Chris’ knee caps.

“ _That_ was about you nearly getting us all a Disturbance.” His tone is sharp, but he doesn’t care. Chris doesn’t even know what it was he just did, and it only increases the buzz under Zee’s nu-skin. “You never, _never_ , speak to an Aide in public. What you did?” Zee whirls, stomping across the room in an attempt to process the excess electricity. “That could have gotten _you_ shipped home, and Jay and me junked. We were _lucky_ , and that's it.”

Chris pales satisfyingly at this, sinking back into the chair, licking his lips as his face registers the full import of Zee's words.

“Junked?”

“Yes,  _Junked_ .” Zee can't help the full body shudder that shakes through his frame at the thought of his body pulled into pieces before its time, not recycled for parts, but thrown to the heaps to be stripped of wiring and skin by black market vultures. “Or at the very least, Auctioned. What use does the House have for Aides who get outside their stations? How could they trust us to work alone with People ever again? You could have  _ruined_ us, Chris.”

“Zee, I…” Chris' blue eyes are huge and earnest, their lively intelligence preoccupied with guilt. “I'm so sorry, I...”

“I know, Chris.” Zee sighs, and sinks onto the bed suddenly. The energy has processed abruptly, and now he feels simply drained, his battery low on charge. “You don’t know anything.”

“I’m  _trying_ Zee.” Chris’ voice is barely audible in the room, full of remorse. “But I only know what you teach me. I’m sorry.”

The room is silent, and Zee lays still. He can feel the weave of the bedcover beneath the sensory pads of his fingers, the movement of the air against the faux-hairs on his arms. He can smell Chris’ scent off to his left, the receptors in his nose processing the distinctive molecules given off by his living, breathing, body.

Zee takes a deep breath.

“Chris. I know on your world you don’t have laws about Aides, because you don’t  _have_ Aides. But here, we do, and the laws are very strictly maintained.” He rolls onto his side to stare earnestly over at Chris where he has pulled his legs up onto the chair and locked his arms around them, fingers interlaced around his knees. “They’re for your own benefit, besides, so you should really learn what they are.” Zee breathes out through his nose. “I don't know why your family hasn't taught you more about these things, especially since you're here for the rest of a year, but clearly someone needs to, or you're going to come to a bad end.” And damned if Zee is going to go down with him. He likes Chris, likes him a lot, but he's no martyr, has no desire to go down as a scapegoat for a pretty, clever, but naïve, Person.

Chris nods once, watching him closely, his teeth worrying at his full bottom lip. His face is open, curious, his head tipped slightly to the side as he listens.

Zee adjusts his position on the bed, taking the weight off his shoulder. Best to start with what just happened, he supposes, and just.. go from there. What is it Em likes to call these? Teachable moments. Start from the top.

“People do not interact with Aides outside of Houses. There is no reason for them to. Aides are the only truly self-aware AIs- you know this, your uncle has AIs in his house, just like everyone else.”

Chris nods, his face expressionless.

“Well, even the fancy AIs, they exist to perform specific functions, and they do so. They make life easier for their masters, but that’s  _all_ that they're capable of. They do not interact more than is necessary, they do not have their own personalities, they are not  _aware_ .”

Chris nods again, staring at Zee as though he can peer through his nu-skin and see the mechanics of his positronic brain.

“Aides are different.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Zee nods in agreement.

“Yes. Aides are different. We’re much more expensive, for one thing.” Zee chuckles, but Chris does not. “We’re built specially, in limited runs, in order to serve the pleasures of People. We’re not only sexual Aides, but we provide companionship and entertainment to those Persons who wish it. Many People like to visit the Houses for entertainment, or because it's a good place to conduct business, or for any other kind of pleasure. We are all built in distinct, separate lines, and even within models, there is a certain amount of individual variation. But we run our own Houses, and we exist at the whims of People.”

“So… what happens?”

“What happens what?”

“If you were to get a Disruption.” Chris gestures absently with his fingers. “What happens?”

“Oh.” Zee feels the faux-hairs on his arms rise at the thought. “Well, depending on the severity of the transgression, I would possibly only be Auctioned.”

“Auctioned?” Chris is starting to look slightly aggrieved. Zee frowns. They haven't gotten to the consequences to Chris yet.

“Yes, Auctioned, to the highest bidder. To someone willing to take on an Aide that has been proven unable to adhere to the Codes.”

“And if you didn’t get a bidder?”

“Well…” Zee examines his nails, spreads his fingers out in front of him. There’s a little wear around the right third knuckle. He’ll need to see to it tonight. “I likely would. I’m a rarer line, and we’re fairly in demand.”

Chris looks at him stubbornly. “But what if you didn’t?”

“Junked.”

“Junked? What does that even  _mean_ ?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, Chris.” He rolls onto his back again, pulling his arm up to stretch over his head. There's a mild click in his shoulder joint. He was probably grinding the ball into the socket as a result of his electric-spike in the Warrens. “I would be turned off and thrown out for scavengers to strip bare.”

“You  _what_ ?” The look on Chris’ face is both perplexing and somehow gratifying. He looks offended on a primal level, and Zee’s not sure if it’s at the idea that junking could happen to Zee, or that Chris could cause it.

“Chris, what did you think happens to us? When we get older, when we wear out, or when they release enough new upgrades in our line.” Zee shrugs, spreads his hands out in front of him. “We get Disassembled. Junked is worse; instead of being recycled at the Facility, an Aide who is junked is thrown out for scrap, but the result is the same.” He examines his knuckles. “What else would they do with us?”

Chris’ eyes are huge. “What else would they  _do_ with you? Nazra’s balls, Zee, they could let you live your  _life_ !”

Zee frowns. “Chris… we’re not alive. We don’t have a life to live in the first place.” He gestures absently at himself. “As insulting as it is to be compared to a toaster, at the end of the day, they are my cousins, not you. I am top of the line, yes, but my parts will wear out, and it’s not cost-effective to upgrade or maintain me. In the long-term, I am disposable.”

“So they just take you out back and  _kill_ you? That’s the most appalling thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Chris…” Zee looks at him. Chris is clearly worked up, and Zee doesn’t know what to do. He can’t imagine why this is such a touchy subject for Chris; yes, he might not know the ins and outs of this society, but the idea of loose Aides just off pretending like they’re People? It’s scandalous. “Chris, they can’t kill us. We’re not alive.  _I’m_ not alive.”

“What the hell do you _mean_ , you’re not alive? What do you call it then?”

“Call what?”

Chris is out of the chair and pacing now, scrubbing his hands through his hair. Zee can smell his heightened anxiety in the pheromones rolling off his body. He gestures at Zee with both hands, his expression open and furious.

“This. You. What you are, what you’re doing.”

“I am fully functional.”

“You’re fully functional.”

“Yes.”

“And how, exactly, did that happen?”

Zee frowns again. What is Chris trying to do here? Honestly, People can be so unpredictable.

“They turned my power switch to ‘on’.”

“And then?”

“And then electricity powered through my circuits, and I became aware.”

“You became alive.”

“No, Chris, I became _aware_.”

“What’s the blessed difference?” Chris is in his space now, leaning over Zee on the bed, his hands planted on either side of Zee’s hips. Zee licks his lips.

“Chris, _you_ are alive. You are a Person. You have blood, you breathe, you have desires and feelings and awareness. You were created by the Gods and by other People, to be like them.” Zee looks away from Chris’ gaze. “I am artificial. There is no breath in my body, there is no heart in my chest. I exist because I was manufactured, and when I have outlived my usefulness, I will be turned off and sold for scrap.” He looks back at Chris, locks his eyes with his own. “It is no great tragedy, Chris. I am not real, not like you are. There’s no loss involved.”

“There’s no _loss_ … how can you even…”

Chris looks utterly stricken, and Zee reaches for him without thinking, stretching a hand to his arm, but Chris slides away. His face is a picture of disbelieving anger, and he’s out the door before Zee can collect himself enough to stop him.

The silence that remains is overwhelming.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, check out @babykid528's amazing art for this! [ It's right here!](http://babykid528.livejournal.com/815662.html)


	3. Someone Fills The Cup In Front of Us

“So. How do you define ‘life’, Zee?”

Zee looks at Chris suspiciously across the small table.

“I would define it as being alive; ie, something which breathes, has metabolism, is born, and dies.”

“Wrong!”

Chris looks cheery, but Zee feels a little exhausted. It’s been weeks and weeks, now, Chris’ visits dropping from nearly nightly to once every five or six days, but still he harps on. Zee can’t even begin to imagine what Chris thinks he’s going to accomplish with this.

“Wrong?”

“Yes, wrong.” Chris deals the next hand of cards, his warm fingers brushing against Zee’s as he slides Zee’s pile across. “You just defined  _biological_ life.”

Zee rolls his eyes.

“And?”

“And that’s not the only kind.”

“What do you mean? Of course it is. Don’t be absurd.”

Chris grins, his eyes dancing. “Nope. They’ve confirmed silicon based life-forms three years back.” He looks at his cards and grimaces, drawing two more off the top and discarding.

“Oh, come on, Chris. Those are… calling them  _rudimentary at best_ is a compliment.”

“Ok, fine. Define it then.” Chris lifts his chin in a challenge, points a finger across the table at Zee and narrows his eyes. “In a way that includes the aforementioned silica critters.”

“Fine.” Zee thinks for a minute, takes a card from the deck and discards. “Ok, well, at the most basic, it means not dead.”

Chris nods, turning over a card in front of them. “Ok. Well, you’re sitting here and talking, so I’m going to go with you’re not dead.”

“Hard to be dead if you’re not alive to begin with.”

“Whatever. Either way, you’re not it.”

“Fine. Ok. You also have to be capable of growth.” Zee lays down his cards triumphantly, laughing as Chris glares at the spread, then raises his face to mock-scowl at Zee. He sweeps up the cards and shuffles expertly, his fingers long and sure.

“Are you?”

“No.”

Chris looks at him consideringly, dealing them each a hand without looking. “Are you sure?”

Zee resists the urge to roll his eyes again. Humans are rubbing off on him lately. “Pretty sure.”

“Ok.” Chris eyeballs him skeptically, then spreads his hands wide. “Are you exactly identical in every way to every other Z-0602 model out there?”

Zee frowns, lining up his cards in order of usefulness. “No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“We are designed to adapt to our surroundings. We have a basic personality matrix in common; I would be more like another Z model than any other Aide, but we’re not clones.”

“So, by adapting to each individual set of surroundings and experiences, you become differentiated not only from the others who are initially identical to you in every way, but from your previous self?”

“…yes?”

“And what would you call that?”

Zee uncrosses his legs, shifting his weight in the chair uncomfortably.

“I don’t know, Chris. Adaptation, I guess.”

“Uh-huh. And what is adaptation a sign of?” Chris flips over the first three cards and smiles.

“Good programming?”

“Yes! Exactly. Good programming that can only be enacted by something that is alive.”

“I don't know, Chris. I’m not buying it.”

Chris stretches his arms, smiles beatifically.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got all night. Go on, then. Next thing.”

“Reproduction.” Zee’s cards are uniformly terrible, so he discards the maximum of three, and draws three more. They are equally bad. “The biological imperative, to create more just like you.”

“Could you?”

“Could I what, reproduce? No, I haven’t got DNA, or sperm, or anything else you would need to make offspring.”

Chris shakes his head dismissively, purses his lips in thought. “No, but could you make more like you?”

It takes him a minute to figure out what Chris means, and for a moment he’s completely flabbergasted at the sacrilege of what he’s saying. He can feel himself gaping unattractively.

“You mean… could I make Aides?”

“Yeah.” Chris smiles at him.

“ _No_ ! Of course not! That’s… the Designers do that. No Aide would ever…” He is completely appalled. Just the thought of an Aide usurping their rightful place so thoroughly is enough to make his system shiver.

“Right, but.” Chris frowns at his hand, moves a card from the end of the spread to the front. “Practically speaking. Do you have the capability?”

“Well, I don’t know how.”

“Right, but you are capable of learning.”

Zee shrugs, cards abandoned on the tabletop.

“Yes.”

“And you are physically capable of doing everything a Person does, and more, ergo, if a Person creates Aides, so could you.” Chris' triumphant smile has returned, and Zee can feel the churn of data circuits in his abdomen processing his sensory input. It's not comfortable.

“I… I guess that’s true. But only on the most basic level. I could never… I would never  _dream_ …”

“Ok.” Chris leans back, his feet on the rungs of Zee’s chair, legs pressing between Zee’s calves. “Anything else?”

Zee thinks for a moment, then shivers unconsciously.

“Response to stimuli.”

Chris grins, showing all his teeth. There’s a look on his face Zee’s never seen before. It's almost... predatory, his mouth open just enough, his eyes focused and dark.

“Well. I think we can prove  _that_ extant, don’t you?”

He drops his cards, reaches across the table to take Zee’s hand in his own, turning it over so that it rests palm up. His eyes seem unbearably bright in the dim lighting, and Zee bites his lip. They’ve never touched much, not since the first night when he so unsettled Chris, but he’s noticed recently that Chris has begun to touch him casually; a hand on his arm here, a leg against his there. Now Chris’ eyes are locked on his as he lowers a finger to press in the center of Zee’s palm, making Zee’s fingers curl upward involuntarily.

“See?” Chris’ voice is rough and thick, and he drags his finger from the palm of Zee’s hand slowly, slowly up his arm. Zee watches in fascination as goosebumps form instantly on his skin, the thin little faux-hairs rising to the passing of Chris’ touch. “You have a very sophisticated response to stimuli.”

It happens so fast, and Zee is so surprised, that he doesn’t realize that Chris is kissing him until it’s well underway, Chris’ mouth warm and moist and human on his own. He’s responding without thinking, his training kicking in to shift his head to the side, lean into the pressure. Little sparks of electricity are surging through his circuits, approximating the human hormonal response to a sexual encounter. He can feel the pre-programmed flush arising to his nu-skin, his non-functional respiration imitation kicking into higher speed.

Chris is pulling on him now, his body pushing the table to the side as he hauls Zee up against him, his hands sliding around and across every angle of Zee’s frame.

“Tell me you don’t feel anything when I do this to you.” Chris bites at the edge of Zee’s mouth, and Zee’s system lights up like an intersection, synapses firing in every point of contact. Zee moans.

“Chris, I am  _programmed_ to respond to this, to you. This is what I am built for.” He presses his fingers into the curve of Chris’ waist, arching his back as Chris’ hands slide up his spine. “I do not  _feel_ anything. I simply respond.” He runs his tongue along the edge of Chris’ lips, cups the back of Chris’ gloriously bony skull in his hand. “Chris, I appreciate what you are trying to say to me, but I am not  _like_ you. I am only stimulus response. Electricity fires in my brain, and I act.”

Chris pulls away, his hair mussed and his lips red. His eyes are tight and narrow.

“And what exactly do you think it is that  _we_ do, Zee? I’m input/output just like you. You touch me…” he grabs Zee’s hand and slides it under his shirt, “and I respond. Electricity lights up in my brain, and fires through my synapses, telling me to do this” he bites at Zee’s shoulder, “and this” he curls his fingers into Zee’s hair and pulls, just enough to make Zee gasp.

“No, Chris…” Zee’s voice is a whisper, and he’s not sure why. “Chris, it’s not the  _same_ .  _We’re_ not the same.” He pulls his hands from Chris' body and steps back. There's a curl of dark hair falling into his eyes, obscuring his view of Chris' open face. “No matter what you say, we’ll always be different.”

\---

“Awww, lovers spat?”

Zee shoots Ari an evil look before turning his back on xyr and assessing the pile of crates that need to be moved. His assessment is, it's a lot of them.

“Don’t you start. You know as well as I do that we can’t love.” It comes out sharper than he intends, but he's too discomfited to pretend to take it back. For all that xe brings out the best in him, xe's always also brought out the worst.

“Wow, that bad huh?” Xe winces in sympathy, xyr face pulling down at the mouth. He can see a small wrinkle settling into the corner of xyr lips, and convinces himself not to notice the subtle signs of wear and tear on xyr nu-skin.

He knows he’s counted the crates twice now, but he can’t begin to remember what the actual result was. Chris hasn’t been back in a week, and Zee can’t shake the idea that he’s gone for good now. Why the idea won’t stop niggling him he can’t say, and he doesn’t have a clue how to deal with it, or the preoccupation that plagues him.

“He won’t stop with his questions, with his… I don’t even  _know_ , Ari, what he’s trying to do, to prove. He wants to think that we’re like People, that we’re  _alive_ , that we’re… I don’t even know. It’s ridiculous, and it’s dangerous.” He pulls his hands back down from where he's been waving them as he rants, rakes them through the top of his hair where it's falling into his eyes.

Ari says nothing, simply begins to unpack a crate onto the countertop, sorting the square packages into protein, sugar, spice, carbohydrate.

“You know, Zee…”

Ari’s voice is quiet when it comes, nervous and hesitant in a way he never associates with xyr. He turns to face xyr, but xe won’t meet his eyes.

“Know what?”

“…he’s not the only one who says things like that.”

“ _What_ ?” He can feel an eyebrow arc in disbelief, a quirk of the Z line he’s always thought silly.

“There are others. Lots of them. Mostly People, but some Aides, too.” Xyr hands are steady as xe works, but xyr voice is low and tense, the words rushing out on top of each other. “The Z model before you, Z-0619, she… Zee, I don’t even know if I should be telling you this.”

“I’m not sure you should be telling me this either, Ari.” He frowns, checks over his shoulder that the door is shut. “What are you saying?”

“Oh, come off it, Zee.” Ari’s face is flushing red, and xe rounds on him, xyr systems approximating anger with exceptional skill. “You act like you’re so accepting of everything, like you believe everything we’re supposed to, but I know you, I  _know_ you, Zee, and there’s  _got_ to be more to you than that.”

Zee finds himself shocked by xyr outburst, stepping back away, one hand out. Xe's breathing hard, xyr chest rising and falling as xe watches him and glares.

“Ari…”

“Shut  _up_ , Zee. I’m going to tell you this, and then I’ll decide later whether or not to regret it.”

Zee obediently closes his mouth.

“The model before you, Z-0619. She was here when I first came. Zoe, we called her. Zoe.” Xe stacks the packages carefully, the columns growing progressively higher with a balanced precision only an Aide could accomplish. “She was my first friend. She was the one who taught me that we could even  _have_ friends. And she was… she was different, Zee. Different from all of us. I don’t know if it was a quirk of her make, or a bug in her programming, or what, but she was always pushing at the boundaries, questioning the limits. Em just about went crazy trying to keep her in line, especially around the guests.” Ari chuckles slightly at the memory. “Zoe never did see any reason that we shouldn’t be treated just like them.”

Zee leans himself carefully against the counter, taking the weight off his sticky hip. He’s having trouble imagining another Z model, much less one like Ari’s describing. Aides rarely meet other Aides outside of their Houses, unless they're privately owned, and travel frequently. The thought of another Z model, one so different from the other Aides he knows, it’s… shocking, and disturbing, and he can feel the synapses in his brain firing in the back like an encroaching storm.

“She met a Person, a woman, who gave her some literature, who started checking her out of the House to go to meetings, and she became a celebrity of sorts in the Underground, always working every night, docile as you please, but writing and speaking and touring for the Aides Rights Movement in the meantime.”

“ _Aides Rights_ ?”

“ _Shut it_ .”

Zee snaps his mouth shut at xyr tone and nods silently.

“She was found out, of course, it was inevitable. There are Watchers everywhere, they  _will_ eventually see everything. It’s just a game of numbers; how many meetings can you have, how many People’s minds can you change before you get caught.” She grips the edge of the counter and lets out a slow breath. “They came to take her away for Shut-down. They’d decided she was too dangerous for Auction; knew too many members of the Undergound, was too unstable. They were going to remove her memory circuits and read them for information, then shut her down and sell her for parts. But when they came to get her, she was gone. Disappeared, leaving everything behind.”

Zee feels stuck to the floor with disbelief, his brain clocking over as he processes the new information.

“I’ve heard she’s out there, somewhere. That she can be found, but only by those she wants to find her. They say she passes, that she looks and acts and lives like a Person.” Ari drops xyr head, examining the countertop.

Zee hisses a breath through his teeth. He can't believe what he's hearing. “That’s… that’s  _Subversive_ .”

Ari rolls xyr eyes in exasperation. “Yes, Zee, it is. That’s the  _point,_ bolthead .” Xe spreads xyr hands, staring at him with an unfamiliar light in xyr eyes. “But Zee… think of it. Us, living like them.  _Living_ , Zee, making our own decisions, going where we wanted to go, doing what we wanted to do.”

“Ari, this is foolishness. We’re not  _alive_ , we’re not People. We can’t  _want_ , we can’t  _live_ . We’re AI, we’re circuits, not feelings; we’re incapable of emotion or belief or anything like that. What are you even talking about?”

The stare xe gives him is pitying in its condescension. “Oh, grow up, Zee.” Xe shakes xyr head at him in what looks like disappointment. “That’s what they tell us, but it’s not true. Everyone knows that. It’s just whether or not you’re brave enough to act on it, that’s the only question.”

Xe stacks the final package and turns to go, throwing him one last look over xyr shoulder.

“Don’t make me regret this, Zee.”

He shakes his head wordlessly. He can’t even begin to deal with what xe said, much less do anything about it, even if he wanted to.

Xyr red ponytail swishes as xe walks out the door, leaving Zee to follow silently behind xyr. They climb the stairs in silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the wide hall. Xe shuts the door to xyr room without acknowledgment, so Zee enters his own, its emptiness echoing around him. He lays down on the bed, taking a stolen moment of stillness to look up at the ceiling in the waiting dark.

His voice is non-existent in the silent room.

“ _Chris. Come back.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all this and more available on tumblr at [zjofierose](http://zjofierose.tumblr.com)


	4. We Taste Only Sacredness

It's six nights, this time, the longest its been, and by the time Chris turns up, Zee has been thinking about having himself hibernated for a few days just so his system can ground the excess energy that won't seem to stop spiking through his current. He's been on touchy terms with Ari, who has clearly been thinking better of their little talk, off-base with his regulars, who have been disappointed that his usual flawless focus is missing even slightly, and he'd been reprimanded by Em earlier that evening for his slipshod work in the kitchen.

He's been shuffling the cards over and over for the last twenty minutes when the knock comes; triple cut, one-handed shuffle, backside flip, all the tricks he knows, just to keep his hands in motion. He doesn't look up as he palms the door lock- he's not expecting anyone, but it doesn't matter. It's undoubtedly just some random come for a fuck.

“I'm sorry that I left.” Chris' voice is quiet as he settles into the chair across Zee, taking the cards smoothly from Zee's hand and dealing seven to each of them. “It's no way to handle a disagreement.”

Zee lets out a breath, and examines his hand without seeing it. All he can hear is the mimetic loop in his head of Chris' words and Ari's gossip, over and over. He would like them both to stop.

“It doesn't matter.” Zee takes a card, discards it.

Chris frowns. “It matters to me. I got angry, then ran out.” He draws a card, takes it into his hand, and discards.

Zee draws another card, discards it. “Your apology is accepted.” He shrugs, glances briefly at Chris' face. What more does he want? Why does he even care about apologizing to an Aide in the first place. Hasn't anyone told him it's not done?

Chris picks up Zee's discard and adds it to his hand. Zee draws and discards again, making Chris lay down his hand and look at him appraisingly.

“You're not mad at me.”

Zee rolls his eyes. “Even were I capable, no. You expressed your opinions.” He shrugs. “You're a Person. You are entitled to do so.”

Chris continues to stare at him. It is disrupting his train of thought.

“What?” He tries to keep his tone neutral, but it comes out more clipped than he intended. Oh, well. Chris is clearly not about to leave over a slight at this point.

“Do you realize you've just discarded three aces in a row?” Chris' face is warm and concerned, and he reaches his hands over to take Zee's cards. “Something's on your mind. Tell me?”

Zee can feel his fingers tremoring slightly in Chris's careful grip, the uncalibrated electricity sparking in his small motors. He closes his eyes. He's afraid of saying anything, but he's more afraid that if he doesn't tell someone, it will spill out of him without his consent, that some fault in his programming will open his mouth and make it produce the words that could end him.

Better Chris than a stranger.

“It's Ari, xe... xe told me things.” He takes a deep breath, and before he can consciously decide, the words are spilling out of him, tumbling out of their pent-up place in his mind over the last week. “Xe says that there's an underground, that... that there are Aides who get out, who... who live, some who even pass as human.” His eyes are still shut, and he can't imagine what he'll see when he opens them, so he doesn't bother to stop himself, he's too far now. “Xe said that there's a Z-line model, that she calls herself Zoe, and that she's a hero, that she saves Aides, that she...”

He can't stand it anymore, and flings his eyelids open to take in Chris' shocked face, comprehension dawning in his ruddy features.

“You can't tell  _anyone_ , do you understand me? No one. This could end xyr, if it got out” Zee grips Chris' arm tightly, posturing his body closer to Chris' to encourage a sense of confidance, of secrets shared. “I'm still shocked xe said anything at all.”

“Of course, I would never...” Chris takes a breath, staring at him stunned. “But, ok, so, what you're telling me,” Chris lays his hand on Zee's, covering Zee's long fingers with his own rough, warm skin, “is that one of your... type...”

“A Z-model, yes.”

“Another Z-model, Zoe, is out in the world living as a Human?”

“Yes!” Zee nods emphatically. The thought of it still makes him anxious. He's sure he couldn't pass for a Person, even if he were inclined to try. To act as though he were the same, it goes against everything he's ever known. If he were a being to whom the concept of a soul and religion held relevance, he'd say the thought of it was sacrilegious.

“And she.. is the head of an Aides Rights movement? That wants to give Aides rights like People?”

Zee shivers, whether on account of the terrifying thought of Aides Rights, or because of the warmth of Chris' warm hand on his cool skin, he can't say.

“I don't know if she's the head, but Ari seemed to think she was symbolically important, if nothing else.” He gives in and lets himself sink further into the mattress, lets gravity press his thigh to Chris'. He didn't know his body could acclimate so quickly to another's presence, that his arms and legs would imprint on the dermal sensation of a Person's warm flesh pressed up against his lifeless skin. “Chris. Why did you come back?”

Chris sighs, and slips his hand down Zee's arm to lace their fingers together. It seems like a gesture with significance, but Zee isn't sure what it is. Perhaps something between friends on Chris' home planet.

“I just... I couldn't stay away.” Chris turns to look at him, and at least 33% of Zee's synapses become occupied in an attempt to properly classify the shade of Chris' eyes. “You're the most fascinating being I've ever known, Zee. I can't stand it that you think so poorly of yourself, that you have  _no idea_ how much  _more_ you are than anyone I've ever met before. I can't believe that the gods could have created something as exquisite as you, and then punish you for carrying within you the spark of the divine. It's not right.” He leans in, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “It makes me so angry that you think that other people's pleasure is the only thing you're good for, but I suppose I'm proving you right. Being around you brings me pleasure, so I come back again and again.”

He leans back and releases Zee's hand, smiling ruefully. “This Aides Rights thing, Zee. It's important. I'd seen hints of it on the wires, but nothing concrete.” He stands, brushes his hands down the sides of his legs, then steps forward into the space between Zee's legs.

“You can't go looking, Chris. It's dangerous. For you, for me, for Ari.” Zee presses his face into Chris' firm stomach, letting his eyes shut and his synapses practice utilizing a reduced number of senses. “Promise me you'll leave it alone. Promise me you'll stay safe.”

Chris catches Zee's face in his hands, pulling Zee's head back so Chris can meet his eyes. “I promise I'll stay safe.” He holds Zee's chin firmly in his hand, leans in to press their mouths together with sure solemnity, and then he's grabbing his coat and smiling as he heads for the door. “Don't worry. You haven't seen the last of me.”

The door shuts, and Zee finishes the sentence in his mind.

_Yet_ .

\--

It’s the click of her heels, always, that gives her away, so Zee turns from his seat in the Lounge to face Em as she walks over. Her face is placid, the perfectly arched eyebrows curving in flawless parabolas over her unblinking eyes.

She pauses, looking at him.

It must be a habit she’s developed to unnerve recalcitrant People, Zee thinks, because if he were human, he would certainly describe the sensations in his neural net as “nerves”. He waits, forcing himself to remain still. It is no good trying to provoke Em into saying anything before she is ready.

“Z-0602, you are hereby required to assemble your possessions and appear in the Front Room at 1600.”

Nerves, definitely, and now a sinking feeling where his stomach would be that he thinks must be something akin to terror, based on the descriptions he has read.

“For what purpose?”

There’s a flicker in her eyes Zee can’t begin to interpret, and she shifts her weight from one perfectly carved leg to the other.

“The new Z models have been released early. It was determined that the Z-06 line contain more flaws than initially suspected, and it is ordered that they should all be switched off this evening at 1800.” She pauses again, looking at a spot above his head. “It is unfortunate. In spite of your growing physical ailments, I had assumed you would go easily to a private collector who would value your particular model. However” she looks perfectly calm again, her long fingers still at her side, “such is not the case. You will clean your room, and appear at 1600 for transmittal to the Plant for Disassembly.”

He thinks he nods, but it clearly doesn’t matter. This was never about his acquiescence, and the roaring in his ears is so loud that he can’t even hear her steps as she leaves the tile-floored room.

Disassembled. His body pulled apart, limb snapped off from limb, miles of wiring and circuitry removed for scrap, recycling into lesser AIs, his thoughtless, servile, brethren. His mind turned off, his memory wiped from record.

He forces himself up from the chair, finds himself on the staircase before he realizes he has no memory of having walked this far. Must be a faulty connection in his data processors, forgetting present events like that. No wonder his line is being Disassembled, if he can’t even remember walking across a room.

Disassembled.

_At least_ , he thinks as he enters his room,  _at least it will all be over soon_ .

_Very soon_.

–

He cleans his room one last time, meticulous as always. He may not know who will occupy it after him, but he will not have it said that he was slovenly. He takes his time with the drapes, moves the bed and cleans beneath it thoroughly, polishes the wooden arms of his chairs, the top of the table. He recycles the linens, places fresh ones in a neatly folded pile on the end of the bed. They're white, for now- the new occupant can set them to their preferred color.

His belongings are few; several changes of clothes, a small tool set for repairs, three books (gifts from clients), two pieces of jewelry (a tie tack and a cock ring, also gifts from clients), and his warranty. He gathers them all into a small carryall, and, finally convinced the room is impeccable, proceeds downstairs at 1550 hours.

He settles himself on the carved mahogany and green silk bench in the hallway to wait for M and the transportation Guides. The air is chilly around him, still and quiet and dim in the late afternoon. Most of the other Aides will be making preparations for the evening in their own rooms, while those in charge of setting up the public areas will be working their shifts to get the space ready.

He's not sure whether he wishes he could've seen Ari before he goes, or not. He can't decide whether he thinks it will be easier for xyr to have been absent when he was taken or not, either. It doesn't really matter at this point, he supposes, given that time runs forward in a linear fashion, and in a matter of minutes, whether xe was there or not will be a matter of the past, rather than the present.

The sound of Em's clicking heels comes echoing down the hallway, and behind her he can hear two pairs of booted footsteps, moving in tandem. It's time, then.

He stands, straightens his suit, picks up his bag, then turns to face them. Em's face is unreadable as always, and he can't see the faces of the two uniformed Guides standing behind her. She watches him implacably as one of the Guides reads from the text scrolling across his visor.

“Z-0602, you are required to accompany us to the Facility for Shutdown and Disassembly.”

Zee nods once in acknowledgment, then waits for instruction. He's never seen an Aide get taken away before; he's not entirely sure what happens next.

“Your belongings will no longer be necessary. You may remand them to your House.”

Em holds out her arm, and the corner of her eye twitches just infinitesimally, where the Guides can't see. It reassures him, to see her reveal her dislike of the situation and the officiousness of the Guides. He's not sure if this is what it's always like, but he hands over his small bag with no complaint. Em is not heartless; she will see that it is all disposed of properly.

“Come with us, Z-0602.”

The second Guide's voice is quieter, but her hand on his arm expects immediate obedience. He goes, propelled by her urging down the hallway, the sound of the rhythmic boot steps following close behind.

The light from the suns nearly blinds him as he steps out onto the back steps; he's rarely outside this time of day, and it catches him off-guard, making him stumble as he makes his way down the marble steps.

He's righting himself, and raising a hand to shade his eyes, when suddenly there's shouting, and the sound of a hovercar engine dropping right in front of them. One of the Guides at his side tips over, and there's a new set of of hands grabbing at him, hauling him toward the hovercar so fast that the trips, and would go down, but for the rough grip of the dark haired man pulling him along.

“Chris! We've got him! Get your ass in the car, NOW!”

The man driving the hovie has silvering hair and a handsome face, and is glaring happily around at the mayhem that seems to have erupted. Zee can't see Chris, but he feels the car dip as someone vaults into the front of it, so he figures Chris must be in. The third man, the dark-haired stranger, shoves him unceremoniously into the back, non-transparent part of the car, but as Zee tips down to climb into the door, his sticky hip locks solid and he falls, clipping his head hard on the metal overhang of the door as he goes. The last thing he sees as his system shuts down to run a diagnostic is the man's concerned face as he thumbs the button to cycle the door shut and mutters “well,  _fuck_ ”.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for the [Pinto Big Bang](http://pintobigbang.livejournal.com/).


	5. Someone Fills The Cup In Front Of Us

His systems power back on several hours later. A quick visual and tactile analysis of his surroundings informs him that he's still in the same vehicle, but it's silent now, and dark. He takes a minute to run a standard full-body check, and discovers that, except for a small split in his nu-skin on the top of his head, which is fortunately well-hidden by his sili-silk hair, he seems to be in working order. There was some minor damage to his neural net, but that seems to have been successfully repaired while his system was in hibernation.

The sound of deep, even breathing from someone sleeping in the front filters gradually back to him as he becomes more aware of his surroundings, so he pulls himself carefully out of the dark recesses of the back of the hovie into the middle to give himself a better view. They must be moored, rather than parked, because he can feel the slight rocking of the craft as he moves around, but it's not enough to wake the sleeper, who breathes on.

His suit is wrinkled beyond compare, and any change of clothes he has is gone, and thinking of his small carryall reminds him of why he's here, in this strange hovercar, with people he doesn't know, moored in the darkness. He can feel the surge of excess electricity skim down his synapses in an anxious buzz, and he lays his hands firmly on his thighs to keep them from trembling as his body absorbs and processes the extra juice.

The driver's door at the nose of the craft cycles open suddenly, surprising him, and making him sink back into the shadows of the back seats. He thinks he knows who captured him, but he doesn't know why, and for all he knows, he's been sold onto the black market while he was offline. The little progress he's made in controlling his tremors disappears in the unknown face of the man climbing up from the dock into the ship, but then the cabin light comes on and illuminates the face of the same man who was steering the hovie when he was pushed into it, and he relaxes slightly.

The driver doesn't see him, settling instead into the seat and buckling his belt, pushing the ignition button and letting the craft whir to life. Zee doesn't see the second man at first, hidden as he is behind the driver, but as the hovie unmoors and lifts quietly off, the dark-haired man appears between the seats and moving back, catching sight of Zee where he's pressed himself into the corner of the back seat.

“So, you're awake. Good.” He settles himself into the other half of the bench seat and grimaces. “Sorry about the knock to the head. We were in a hurry.”

Zee nods cautiously in acknowledgment. The man looks nothing like Chris, really- dark-eyed and sharp-faced, where Chris is golden and fine-featured, but there's a similar intensity in their gaze, a familiar tilt to the man's rueful smile as he sticks out his hand abruptly for Zee to shake.

“Karl. Chris' cousin. Man in the front's our uncle Bruce.”

Zee shakes his hand carefully, nods graciously. “Z-0602.” He hesitates. “I call myself Zee.”

Karl slaps his shoulder, and buckles himself in. “You better buckle up and sit tight. We're running dark, but Bruce knows what he's doing. It'll be a few more hours till we get where we're going. Get some rest.”

The instruction is a little irrelevant for him, given that he doesn't actively need rest like humans do, but he obediently buckles himself in, and closes his eyes. It's as good a time as any to run a defrag of his internal drive.

–

They come to a stop a long while later, and well past dark. There aren't any lights that Zee can see out the windows, but he can hear the muted grumbling of the other two passengers as they wake up and shift around. He unhooks his safety belt and unkinks his leg, stretching himself out quietly as the door cycles open.

There's a knock on the hood of the hovie, and Bruce climbs out to talk for a moment with the knocker, then leans in to wave them all out. Zee bites his lip- he hasn't seen Chris yet, not since before he found out he was being sent back to the Facility. He knows that it must be Chris' doing that he's here, now, and not being painstakingly taken apart, his good pieces slated for reuse and his sticky hip recycled. He's grateful, more grateful than he's ever been, but simultaneously afraid of the enormous risk of it all, risk that not only he and Chris are undergoing, but Chris' family, too, and all for what? For him? He can't begin to reconcile the logic involved.

Karl steps out of his way, making for the door, and then it's just him and Chris left. His automated breathing catches as their eyes lock, and then Chris is smiling, and holding out his hand.

\--

“How did you find out?”

It's been three days that they've been moving, and this is the first time they've been alone together for more than a moment or two. They're in a safe house on the edges of a city that Zee's never seen, and probably never will again, nearly on the other side of the continent from where he's spent the rest of his relatively short number of years. They'll move again tonight to yet another safe house, but Bruce says they'll maybe stay at the new place for longer. There's no sign that they've been followed thus far, though they've made the news feeds every night, and infamous Zoe is due to rendezvous with them tonight.

Chris turns from the small window to face him. It's late afternoon and hot, and Zee can see his skin glisten in the beams of sunlight. He wants to reach out and touch it, stroke a hand down the warm planes of Chris' chest, but he doesn't.

“Your friend, she told us.”

“Ari?” Zee feels his eyes widen. He should have guessed, he supposes, but it actually hadn't occurred to him. He'd assumed Chris had tried to make an appointment and been turned down, or something similar. The thought of Ari putting xyrself at such risk is flooring, and he forces himself to re-start his automated respiration. “But... xe must be in trouble! We have to go back!” He's on his feet before he realizes, but stills at the touch of Chris' arm on his.

“Hey, Zee, it's ok.” They've dyed Chris' hair to a warm brown, and he's shaved his beard, all in an attempt at disguise, but his eyes are the same, piercing blue, bright with intelligence and good humour, even after days and nights on the run. “She's safe.”

“Xe's safe,” he corrects automatically. “Your planet may only recognize two genders, but Aides come in a spectrum.” He catches Chris' smirk, and covers his mouth. Here, after all this, he can't suppress the urge to teach, correct, inform Chris.

“Yes, Xe's safe.” Chris slides a hand around his waist. “Xe's with another group, but also going into hiding. We got... zem?xyr?”

“Xyr.”

“We got xyr out, we weren't going to just leave xyr there, not after xe helped you. Besides, xe begged to come. So, xe went quietly with another group while we were distracting everyone with the fuss over you.” Chris frowns, and reaches his hand up to touch Zee's cheek. “I'm sorry, I don't know if you'll ever get to see xyr again. For your own safety, and xyrs.” He swipes his thumb under Zee's left eye, and Zee raises a hand to touch his damp fingers in wonderment. He must be crying; he's never done that involuntarily before; it's not supposed to happen. But after the events of the last week, honestly, even the events since he met Chris, he feels completely at a loss, unmoored and unbounded, like he doesn't even know what he is anymore, where he fits.

“How did you do all this? How did you...” it sounds ridiculous to even say it aloud, “how did you arrange for xyr to be taken by liberationists? How do you know how to do this?”

Chris wraps his arms around him, and Zee lets himself be pulled in and pressed close, lets his eyes focus on the way the sunlight gilds the small hairs on Chris' neck. He can hear Karl and Bruce moving around in the other rooms, can hear faint sounds of traffic from the traffic tubes across the fields. He takes a breath, attempts to steady himself.

“Well.” Chris chuckles lightly against him. “I just... I couldn't stop thinking about you, at first. I was completely taken with you. You might have noticed by how I kept coming back?” Chris laughs, and Zee just shakes his head. “And then I couldn't stop thinking about what you were saying, that you at any moment,” Chris' grip tightens around him, “might be taken and dismantled, and I'd never see you again. I couldn't...” He takes a breath, then continues. “After what you told me, what you said about there being a movement...I started researching. I reached out to a couple of people here from my homeworld, ones who stayed. I thought maybe... they would see it like I do, the wrongness of it, the sacrilege of killing living beings without giving them a choice, of keeping them enslaved and bereft of even their own sense of spirit.”

Chris takes a step back, holds on to Zee's shoulder with one hand, lifts the other to cup his face.

“Not all of us go back, you know.” Zee shakes his head. He hadn't known. He'd thought the point of the Freedom Year was to get it out of your system and return. Chris smiles gently. “No. And if we don't return, we're allowed on planet, but we can never again go back to our homes, our community. There are special areas where former members can come to meet with their families, but we are effectively exiled.” He shrugs. “Some are here, some on other planets, but! The important part is, I was right, there are others like me. And I got connected.”

Zee's confusion must show on his face, because Chris leans forward to kiss him, then continues speaking.

“I asked a few questions, hacked a few forums, and I found the underground. When I had enough information, I went to my uncle and cousin, and told them what I'd been doing, and that I wanted to get you out.” He makes an embarrassed face. “I was just going to try to convince you; that would have been less dramatic, I suppose. But then Ari contacted me, and I begged the underground to help, and they did. Bruce and Karl...” he throws his head back and laughs. “I think they were just bored. They said it was the most exciting plan they'd heard in years.”

Zee can't really understand it, this cavalier sense of reality, the idea that someone would toy with their life and safety for entertainment, to escape boredom. That they would risk themselves for a non-Person that they've never even met. He lets his head come to rest on Chris' shoulder. It's more than he can really take in, and yet.

He's not safe; none of them are. And his world has changed completely, and will continue to change for the foreseeable future.

He finds he doesn't care.

\--

They’ve been sleeping in the same bed for four nights when Chris turns to him half asleep and kisses him, his mouth warm and hopeful in the pitch darkness. It’s not even a decision, not anymore, so Zee kisses him back, sliding his tongue into Chris’ mouth and pressing a hand firmly against his back.

“Zee…”

Chris voice is blurred and mumbled in sleep, his eyes shut even as his hand catches up on Zee’s hip, playing with the edge of Zee’s borrowed sleeping pants, squirming himself closer to Zee’s body.

“Hush. Now is as good as ever.”

Chris chuckles into his mouth, a warm gust of flavored air. His hand is insistently pushing along the bare planes of Zee’s back, tracing the muscles and architectural planes, rubbing callused patterns along the nape of his neck.

“So this was inevitable, huh?”

Zee smiles into the kiss, rubbing his mouth against Chris’ stubble. He lets himself sink into the sensations of Chris’ body against his, Chris’ mouth and tongue and legs wrapped around him. The sensations of Chris' body surrounding him, pervading him, encompassing his whole being.

“It was.”

“Mm. Hope it’s worth the wait.”

Zee puts a hand down Chris’ sleeping pants, stroking up between his legs to feel the warm weight of Chris’ sex in the palm of his hand. Chris moans unreservedly, and Zee covers Chris' mouth with his own.

“Chris…” Zee can hear that his voice is tight, shivery in the dark. He can’t think, he can’t process, he’s starting to be overwhelmed and all that he can hold onto is that Chris needs to know, has to know how much he is to Zee, that he’s the only thing Zee can see when he shuts his eyes, that he is what ties up at least thirty percent of Zee’s processing power at any given time, and sometimes much,  _much_ more. That he is the only thing that has saved Zee, that he is Zee’s own personal redemption.

“Shh. I know.” Chris' voice is a whisper in his ear. “It’s inevitable, remember?”

Zee smiles, then gasps as Chris presses a warm hand against him, pulling at him and kissing into his neck. It’s almost too much; no one ever does this, not to him. Aides are to serve, and cannot receive pleasure anyway, so why waste energy on a cause that’s lost from the start?

Except, Zee thinks, as Chris sucks a print onto his nu-skin and pulls at his cock, that this is what Chris has always done. Ignored what everyone told him should be, and set about changing things around to how he thinks they ought to be. Zee pulls Chris flush against him, hooking a leg around Chris’ hip and moving in increasing motions, back and forth and back and forth. Chris’ head falls back to the pillow, his eyes still squeezed shut, his breath panting in his throat.

“Zee… you are the most exquisite being I have ever known…”

Zee moves against him, pressing his every nerve ending to Chris’, wanting to seal them impermeably together. He is being broken apart and made new in this man’s hands, and he can’t bear to think of what it would be like to not be here, right now, thrusting against Chris’ warm, sticky, human body until he comes, stiffening in Zee’s arms with a blissful groan, shooting against their stomachs in heated spurts.

Chris takes a moment to breathe, but only a moment, then his hand is pulling insistently at Zee, and Zee can feel a warm buzzing in the base of his stomach, rising and pressing outward, sparking tension throughout his limbs.

“You gonna come, baby?”

“I…I don’t know…”

Chris kisses him then, his lips on Zee’s whispering words he can’t even understand, his hands reshaping every inch of Zee’s body into something entirely new, and Zee seizes suddenly, his world exploding into pulsing light and white noise, his brain mainlining as his synapses explode in concert.

The first thing he’s aware of is Chris’ sleepy chuckle, his voice already fading into nothingness.

“Told you you could feel.”

There’s no response adequate, so Zee folds himself into Chris’ arms, tucking his head under his chin and inhaling as deeply as his artificial lungs will allow.

It’s new, it’s all new, and he will never be the same again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that my amazing artist also made an original piece of music for this work? I mean, holy hell, you guys. [Go listen!](https://soundcloud.com/mystic-15/1-told-you-you-could-feel)


	6. Something Makes Boredom And Hurt Disappear

He gets up early, still unused to the new lack of solitary time, and goes downstairs to see if there's anything he can do to earn his keep. He feels indebted to these People who are risking their welfare on his behalf, and while clearly his usual skill set is not likely to be appropriate in the form of compensation, perhaps there's something else that he can assist with, and make himself useful.

He finds Zoe in the kitchen, putting away the dishes from the previous night's meal, and falls into step beside her. The dishes put away, she falls to wiping down the counter, and he can't help but begin re-ordering the cupboard. He knows it's just a safehouse; no one lives there permanently; but is that any reason to store the silverware in cups next to the plates when there's a perfectly usable silverware drawer? Em would never allow such a thing.

“I always enjoyed straightening. I don’t know why.” She pauses, glances at him sidelong. “A quirk.”

He feels his mouth twitch in response. Amusement, he supposes, if he’s going to buy into the notion that these specific patterns of synapse stimulation are emotions. He feels amusement at her.

“Myself, also.”

She smiles back.

She’s beautiful, Zoe is, but more different from him than he had expected; he’d always been under the impression that all models in a line were nearly physically identical, with the only improvements being software and internal hardware upgrades, but this is apparently not the case. They are similar, of course; both long and lean, with long, thin faces and large dark eyes. Her skin is darker, though, her sili-silk hair a different texture. Her nose is delicate where his is strong, her full lips more oval, her eyes a careful almond.

It must be the closest thing an Aide can have to a sibling, he supposes, watching her move confidently around the room. Each model line would be like siblings who share both parents, with each model number being a multiple birth, or maybe a litter is more accurate.

Zoe is his sister.

The thought makes him pause to analyze a warm feeling in his chest. Pleasure. He has a sister, and the thought gives him pleasure.

–

Karl's cooking when Zee returns downstairs from cleaning himself, his back to the room as he flips eggs in a pan. It’s strange to him, to see someone cook for pleausre; Aides cooked and prepared all of the food at the House, of course, but it was a duty. After all, they can’t even taste the food, not really; their sense of smell is strong enough that they can perceive a residual side effect of flavor, but they possess no tastebuds, no real digestive tract to speak of, simply an input and output tube and the necessary chewing mimicry.

He’s interrupted from his musings by the clatter and bang of Zoe descending the stairs and flopping into the chair at his right elbow. Karl turns and smiles, and Zoe smiles back at him with a grin that starts slow and grows to occupy her whole mouth.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Zoe doesn’t respond, just watches as he turns back to the skillet, but she looks perkier even before Zee elbows the carafe of coffee down to sit next to her cup. She shakes her head, reaches across the counter to press the power point, and toggles the power on the holo-wall. It’s the beginning of the morning news, a carefully coiffed woman sitting at a high desk and speaking seriously into the feed.

“It has been brought to the attention of this news service that the Disruptors and Rebels who have seized a helpless Aide destined for Disassembly have been sighted in East Ahr’ah late last night.” The reporter runs her finger down the Pad in her hands, skimming up the relevant information as a blurry shot of a tall, dark-haired man arm-in-arm with a blond figure blooms into focus behind her. “Christopher Pine, recently of Parfroya, and on his Freedom Year, is wanted by the Authorities for Peace in connection with the disappearance of a Z-06 model, serial number Z-060277-Q. This man is considered to be unstable, and a threat to the Order of Peaceful Life everywhere.” She pauses again to look seriously into the camera. “I’m sure that is clear to all our Citizens what an enormous Disruption this incident is.” She pales prettily as she scrolls further on the page. “It is further reported to this agency that both parties are known Aides Rights Activists, and are likely engaged in an illegal relationship. This is not only a Disruption, but an Affront. Any Persons with any information regarding this Person and this Aide, or either of their two believed accomplices, Karl Urban and Bruce Greenwood, are asked to immediately contact and Authority.”

Karl gives a mighty snort and waves his hand to switch off the display.

“East Ahr’ah, huh? How’d you manage that?”

Zoe smiles indulgently as he sets a plate full of omelet in front of Zee.

“I have my connections.” She shrugs as she loads a plate for herself from the skillet he sets on the counter, and smiles prettily. “It's amazing what you can do when you run an inter-planetary smuggling ring.”

Karl snorts again, already shoveling a massive forkload of egg and vegetable onto his plate.

“Zoe…” Zee can feel the sensation in his gut that Chris tells him is worry. He doesn’t like it. “These are friends of yours? Isn’t it a… large risk to them?”

Zoe waves a hand unconcernedly from her seat, and swallows her mouthful.

“No, they’re both People, it’s no real risk. You guys are all over the feeds right now, you know- they didn’t have to do anything other than take a casual after-dinner walk together to be noticed and reported. But as far as anyone can show, it was simple coincidence.”

Zee hangs his head. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like this. People taking risks on his behalf, People putting their safety on the line for his. It isn’t right. It goes against the System, against everything he’s ever been taught, everything he’s ever believed.

“Hey.” Zoe’s eyes are large and dark in front of him, her long fingers on his chin. “You are  _alive_ , Zee. You’re  _real_ in every way that counts. And nobody should  _ever_ take that away from you, do you hear me?” She flicks his ear. “You are as valuable as they are, as any other being on this planet, or any other. You hear me?”

He doesn’t believe it, not really, but he wants to, he wants to so badly, so he nods, once, and she releases him.

“Someday, Zee. Someday you’ll believe it like the rest of us do.”

“Believe what?”

Chris’ voice is warm and sleepy, his arms wrapping around Zee from behind, his bed warmth pressing into Zee’s torso, Zee’s hands instinctively coming up to cover Chris’ forearms where they rest against his chest.

Zoe looks at them both for a minute, the look on her face warring between amused and indulgent, then shakes her head.

“Hmm?” Chris nuzzles his face in behind Zee’s ear, his exhalations tickling the hairs on Zee’s neck.

“It’s nothing, Chris. Here” Zee pulls him around, settling Chris into the chair next to him and pushing a fresh plate in front of him. “Have some breakfast.”

\--

The pace of their flight slows, but they stay on the move for months as the dry season fades into the long wet winter, moving from safe house to safe house, nearly getting caught at least once that Zee knows about. He's honestly surprised at how long the Authorities for Peace are willing to chase them down; the initial publicity of their flight must've had more of an impact than he'd realized.

Bruce has shown them on a map where they are, and where they've been, and Zee finds himself tracing their path on the holoscreen with fascinated fingers. He's never known anything beyond the bounds of his own city, and even within it, he was restricted in his movements. Travel isn't something he'd really ever spent time contemplating; he's always been a pragmatist, and it had never been something that affected his sphere; but now that he's tried it, he thinks he might like it, that he might like to do it more.

Chris catches him one evening playing with the maps, zooming in and out, looking at the House from the various available angles, tracing the routes he used to take through the city as he mouths the names of the districts aloud.

“C'mon, Zee. I'm a naïve fundie, and I know the basics of geography. How is it that you don't? You're intelligent, educated.”

Zee shrugs. “Wasn't relevant. Really, I'm only educated in a few very specific areas. It's more efficient that way.” He glances up from the map, smiles to see Chris' face close to his. “If I'd gone to a private collector after my line was retired, I might have had reason to learn more things like it. But I never did.” He looks at Chris for a moment, watches the bluish light move across his face. “Chris, how old are you?”

Chris laughs at him. “Worried you've run away with a teenager?” He saunters closer and presses himself to Zee's side, folding the holoscreen back into the ceiling with one hand. “I'm 21. Perfectly decent.”

Zee smiles, forcing the corners of his mouth down as he tries to repress it. “And how old do you think that I am?” He goes willingly as Chris pulls him close on the low couch of the house they're currently using.

Chris laughs in surprise, then pulls back a little to think about it.

“Well, I guess I'd been assuming that you're roughly the same age as me.” He squints. “You wouldn't really age in the same way, though, so maybe older?” He pokes a finger into Zee's side, hitting the set of sensory inputs that make him squirm in confusion. “I'm going with older.”

“Nope.” Zee twists and tugs, but can't quite get free, so settles for biting lightly on Chris' ear until he stops with a chuckle. “It's been three years, seven months, and eighteen days since I was switched on.”

He feels Chris freeze next to him before he relaxes with a huff, then tips his head back and laughs uproariously. “Oh, by the mother of all the gods!” His face seems to be stuck halfway between horrified and deeply amused. “I'm in love with a toddler.”

Time seems to stop, then stutter and start moving again all in a rush, like a switch has been flicked, a sensor engaged, but Zee hasn't touched a thing. Electricity misfires in his system, making colors suddenly too bright, the touch of Chris' hand too present on his arm. Zee focuses on chasing the stray bursts down his wiring, absorbing them into his redundant pathways, monitoring his system levels.

“Hey, you guys oughta come see this.” Bruce sticks his face through the opened doorway and pulls a face at their entwined forms on the couch. “C'mon, get the fuck out here.”

“Yeah, yeah, we're coming.” Chris flops a hand at his back as it disappears again through the door, but hauls himself obligingly to his feet, and turns to take Zee by the hand, pull him after Chris into the main room.

“...results of three separate incidents in which Aides due to be Disassembled have been kidnapped and taken hostage by so-called Aides Rights groups. Further, there have been at least sixteen documented instances of Aides deserting their Houses or places of residence in the month since the now-famous abduction of Aide Z-060277-Q by colonial fundamentalist and suspected Subversive Christopher Pine.” The announcer's pretty face is serious, her dark hair pulled severely behind her ears. Zee lets out a nervous breath as Karl reaches over the back of the couch where he's sitting to smack Chris on the leg.

“Famous boy!”

Chris grunts, and shoves at the back of Karl's head, quieting as the announcer continues.

“The first ever marches for Aides Rights are scheduled for three days from now, in all three capitols on the Lumne continent. The Authorities for Peace have vowed to shut down any streets, tunnels, or tubes where marchers appear, and to Escort any who disrupt the peace.”

Zoe turns from where she's arranged herself on Karl's lap to display the screen of her commsheet, scrolling on an endless feed. Zee can see their names popping up, over and over and over again, bright against a background of Subversive chatter. He forces himself to loosen the grip he has on Chris' fingers. They're safe enough. As safe as they've been at any point since they left the House.

“...Authorities are still on the look-out for fugitive Christopher Pine, described as being of average height and build, blond, and bearded. Aide Z-060277-Q is considered to be his unwilling hostage, and should be returned as soon as possible.”

Zoe waves her hand, and the holoscreen goes silent.

“You boys are bonafide celebrities.” She reaches up to ruffle Chris' dark hair in amusement. “And the movement has really picked up steam. You've gone viral; you're the heroes of the underground.” She chews her lip thoughtfully, and Karl goes back to massaging her foot while Bruce changes the channel to something sports related. Zoe eyeballs them thoughtfully. “Really, this is a once in a life-time opportunity...”

\--

“When did you first realize that you’re a Person too?”

John Cho is a small man, and eager, leaning forward in his seat and pointing his recorder aggressively at Zee. He’s clearly biased, but then, he is the face of media for the Aide Liberation Front, so, Zee supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Still, he’s making Zee uncomfortable.

“I’m not a Person. I’m an Aide.”

“But you want to be considered a Person.”

“No, I want to be considered an Aide.” Zee is a little puzzled, but the feeling is moving quickly into what he thinks he could rightly classify as irritation.

“What Zee means, of course, is that even though he is an Aide, he, and all the rest of the Aides, deserve to be accorded equal status with Persons. Full rights, privileges, and Citizenship.”

John swings the microphone swiftly to point at Bruce, and Zee nods in relief. Bruce Greenwood has turned out to be an interestingly slippery man, charmingly managing to spin every piece of information they have released into a masterpiece of innocent nuance, painting the Authorities as heartless ideologues and Zee as an innocent victim, Chris as his heroic savior.

“Zee? Is that your name?”

“…yes?” It's the closest thing he has, anyway. He assumes that's what John is looking for?

Zoe lays a perfectly manicured hand on his leg, and leans forward to answer. “As is customary among groups of Aides, the different models adopt a nickname to differentiate themselves from others of their lines. Z-060277-Q and I are from the same line; my legal designation is Z-061978-S, but I chose to use adopt the name 'Zoe' as my own. Zee is the nickname Z-0602 has always used.”

Zoe, Zee thinks, is also pretty slick.

“At what point did you decide to renounce your slavery in a House and run for your freedom?”

“I didn't. Freedom was not a thought I ever had. I thought I was going to be Disassembled.” John is squinting at him now, and Zee's not sure if it's that he'd genuinely heard a different version of this story, or if Zee's just not telling the story John wants him to hear. “I'm very grateful, of course. No Aide looks forward to Disassembly, even if we expect it. And I hadn't expected it to be my time for some years yet; I had expected to be Auctioned, first, and have a retirement, before being sent for Disassembly.” He pauses, looks around. “What Chris and his family have done for me, what the whole Underground has done for us, it's... it's been life-changing.”

“So you consider yourself to be alive?”

“I don't know. But whether or not I'm alive, I do seem to have a life, to have always had a life, and I'm as loath to give it up as any other creature.”

John is nodding, Karl smiling in encouragement.

“And what about your... relationship with Chris? It is, of course, illegal for Aides and People to enter into any kind of legal relationship beyond client and employee. He was a client of yours. Do you consider yourself to be in love with him? And if so, when did that start?”

Zee hesitates, looking over at Chris. He's not sure why this question surprises him; he knows speculation about their relationship or lack of one has be rampant throughout the various Underground feeds, and has been the subject of at least one scandalous docu-drama on the late-night nets.

“I did not believe that I had feelings, though it has since become clear to me that, in fact, many Aides do consider us to be capable of emotion.” He shrugs in helplessness. “I find myself inclined to agree with them. We may not produce hormones like People do, but we are programmed to mimic human behavior nearly exactly via our neural nets.” He pauses and looks at Chris, at the pride in his face. “It is possible that these are not identical to the feelings that humans experience, but it does seem inarguable that we experience emotions and emotional states of our own.” He takes a deep breath, smooths his hands over his legs.

“As to our personal relationship, it is, well, in a word. Personal.” He chuckles nervously, and John laughs with him. He looks up at Chris' face, bites his lip. “I owe Chris everything. He saw in me things that I could not. He believed in me, because he saw no reason not to. His beliefs in divine creation and holy love were not overcome by difference, but rather, it seemed to him, that because we were so much more the same than different, that those same principles also applied to me.” The room is dead silent, and Zee can't bring himself to look up again. “I cannot say if I am capable of love or not; I have nothing on which to firmly base my comprehension of the state. But, if I am, then yes. I would say that I love him.”

The stillness holds for a long moment, and then Zoe cuts in smoothly, smiling at John as she leans forward into the mic.

“And here we are, ladies and gentlemen: love is universal, love is true. And what society could be so cruel, so unjust, as to deny the love of two persons because of a simple difference in anatomy? It is wrong, and the world knows it. The tide is turning in our favor, and We. Are. The Future.”

“Annnnd there you have it, gentlefolk, the amazing Zoe-Z herself! The future is now, and Aides are part of it! There is no turning back! ” John beams at them all as he waves his hat over the mic with a flourish. “This is John the Cho, signing off!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention all of the amazing art for this fic? [It's available here](http://babykid528.livejournal.com/815662.html).


	7. Something Opens Our Wings

He finds Zoe on the porch of their safe house several nights later, alone in the light of the two moons. He's discovered that they both keep odd hours, being both less in need of rest, and accustomed from their House days to unusual and unpredictable schedules.

He settles on the chair next to her and lets the silence stretch between them for a long space of time.

“Zoe...” He begins finally, and hears her shift in her seat. “I am very grateful...”

“...but you don't want to be in the Underground anymore.” She laughs quietly. “Oh, Zee, it's ok. I've seen this coming.”

He sighs, and turns to watch her. She opens her mouth and lets out a puff of air, her profile sharp in the starlight. If she were human, it would be a cloud of condensation, but the air in their lungsacs is not warmed. He tries to picture her human.

“Do you wish you were a Person?”

She laughs briefly in surprise, but pauses a minute before answering.

“No, I don't think that I do.” She tips her head slightly while she considers. “I would like to be able to experience things the way that they experience them, at least once, just to know.” She pauses, thinking. “But if I were human, I would not be myself, and I'd rather be myself than some unknown.”

Zee nods. He can understand both parts of that. He interlaces his fingers and looks out at the night sky.

“Zoe, what are our lifespans? In the Houses, we serve usually five to seven years before Auction, and then after, I've known Aides to be as old as fifteen.” He looks down at his fingers again, rubs mindlessly at the worn spot on his knuckle. “You said you'd known of an Aide who was at least thirty. I've never heard of such a thing.”

Zoe drums her fingers on the arm of her chair, and kicks her feet up onto the porch railing.

“Well, the answer is that we don't really know, Zee. We're historically a commodity, under the influence of supply and demand economics, and the way to increase demand is to keep supply relatively low.” She waves her delicate fingers in the air, indicating the balance of scales. “So, we get Disassembled before we can glut the system.” She blows out another breath. “I've asked some technicians I know what they think, and they've told me that, with good maintenance and the occasional part replacement, there's no real reason that we couldn't have a lifespan comparable to humans. Or at least, of several decades.”

Zee stills in surprise. He'd been optimistically hoping for twenty years, with thirty being the high end of possibility.

“The difficulty, of course, is finding needed parts. And eventually, rather like humans, actually, our systems simply will become too run-down and too difficult to fix and maintain, and we will be obsolete. But. Not for some time.”

Zee bites his lip.

“So, if I were to leave...”

“If you left, and if you maintained yourself well, and let us know of parts that you needed down the line... you could expect a reasonably long life, Zee.”

Her gaze on him now is sympathetic, and he remembers again that, for all that Zoe is swish and swagger now, but she had at one point gone through the same shocks and realizations that he must now grapple with.

“And if I do leave, and if Chris leaves with me, then what? Where do we go? How do we live?”

She shrugs.

“This planet and his planet are only two of many. Here, you would not be safe, not for many years, until your face is forgotten. But out there...” She spans a hand in a wide gesture across the belt of stars in front of them. “Not so many care about the rules of the Capitol, or the qualms of the fundamentalists. Live your life, lie low, probably you won't be bothered much.”

She leans over, and presses a kiss to his cheek before standing up and heading inside.

“Dream big, Zee.”

\--

He hears Chris come out the door behind him, but he doesn't turn from his position leaning on the rail of the porch that surrounds this particular safehouse. Dawn broke about an hour ago, but he hadn't ever followed Zoe in, waiting outside instead to watch the sun rise over the fields.

“Hey.” Chris comes up behind him, slips in under his arms, warm back to Zee's chest, and shivers. “Chilly out here.”

“Hadn't noticed.”

“Har har.” Chris rolls his eyes and huddles closer, Zee easily accommodating him. “So, Zoe said last night she wants us to do another round of interviews. She says we're a sensation, that the movement loves us.”

A bird breaks from cover out in the in the tall grass and flies twittering into the air, followed by three more. Zee  _mmm's_ non-commitally, watches them until they fade from view.

“The marches have been a real success, in spite of the efforts to put them down. And one of the Seven Families has come out in support of Aides Rights.” Chris chuckles. “Seems the patriarch has kept an Aide in his house for the past 30 years as a ' _close, personal friend'_ .”

“We would hear of that sort of arrangement, sometimes,” Zee muses, “but it never would have occurred to me that a Person would want to change it, to... make it public. Real.”

Chris slumps a little in his arms, and Zee leans in to kiss the back of his neck where it rises from his shirt collar. “What must you all think of us, to believe such a thing? To think that we love so cheaply, care so little.”

“Not at all. Rather, we are taught that our value is in our skills and our monetary worth. What has that to do with love?” He pulls Chris in close to his chest, nuzzles his chilled face in behind Chris' cold ear. “What meaning does an emotion hold to a creature made up of circuits and wires?”

“Every meaning.” It's a whisper, but Zee hears it, and nods in agreement.

“Yes. Every meaning.”

They stand still, watching as the morning light pushes into the shadow of the house, revealing the golden seedheads on the winter stalks.

“Chris?”

“Mm?”

Zee sighs. “I don't want to be a figurehead.” He ducks his face into Chris' neck. “I just... I've been given a life I never dreamed of, never even knew I could want, let alone  _have_ . And I don't... I don't want to spend that time on the run, giving interviews, and making appearances, and showing up the Authorities. I want to explore the system, I want to see your planet, I want... I want to take my life, and  _live_ it.”

Chris rubs his cheek reassuringly against Zee's head as he thinks, tangling their fingers as he weighs his reply.

“What about Zoe, and Karl? What about the movement?” Chris takes a breath. “Don't we owe it to them to keep going? And the other Aides, the ones who've escaped and the ones who haven't- don't they need us do keep fighting the good fight? To show what life can be?”

Zee shakes his head, breathing in the scent of Chris' warm skin. He slips a chilled hand under the edge of Chris' shirt, muffling his chuckle at Chris' outraged squawk in his shoulder.

“It is a particularly human failing to believe that you are indispensable. We may all be unique, but we can all be replaced.” He rubs his face minutely back and forth. Zoe says it's a self-soothing behavior, and that it shows he's picking up even more human behaviors from living with them continuously. She says he'll get used to it, and laughs. Zee doesn't know what to think, but it calms the electricity firing through his nets, so he hasn't stopped, either. “Besides, they have our story. We've already done it. It's already a myth, a legend.”

He steps back, turns Chris to face him, pulls Chris' coat tight around his body as Chris smiles and shivers.

“Let them have it, Chris. Let them take it. Let them have Zoe, and Karl, and John, and all of the newly escaped Aides, and the ones who will leave in the months and years to come. I want...” He gestures at the open prairie rolling in front of them. “I want this. I want... travel, I want peace, I want... I want to live my life on my own terms, with conditions of my own choosing.”

He brings his hands up to cup Chris' face, to frame those ever-bright eyes with his long fingers. Chris' blond roots are showing beneath the outgrowing dye job, and he has sleep stuck in the corner of one eye. He's smiling as Zee brings their foreheads together, breath moving warm through slightly parted lips.

“Let them have the legend, Chris,” Zee whispers, “all I want is you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come find me on tumblr.](http://zjofierose.tumblr.com) And tell [thatmysticbafflingwonder](http://thatmysticbafflingwonder.tumblr.com/) how amazing [her art and music for this fic are!](http://babykid528.livejournal.com/815662.html%22)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Something Opens Our Wings [ART]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619863) by [babykid528](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/pseuds/babykid528)




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